Cutting Silence
by xXxShannahBunnyxXx
Summary: After Kurt is found on the floor with his arms cut open, he's sent to Ohio's Corrective Institute for the Mentally Unsound. What happens when he meets a boy with intense eyes and problems of his own? Better summary inside!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** After Kurt is found on the floor with his arms sliced open, he's sent to Ohio's Corrective Institute for the Mentally Unsound. Kurt feels abandoned and betrayed. But what happens when he meets and boy with intense eyes and problems of his own? Will Kurt finally have the courage to face his problems, or will he and this boy just spiral out of control?

**AHOY: Attention all ye who enter here! Tee hee, I am currently blasting the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack right now ::shrugs:: This would be the first Glee fic I've written. Read on! But Matey, be cautious! These are stranger tides ye be hailing. **

**In other words, this is a cutting fic. If that bothers you or will upset you please don't read. It's also slash…so no flames in those departments.**

**AVAST, ME HEARTIES: This be an idea previously claimed by another scallywag! Ne'er have I claimed, nor do I now, claim this booty as me own. **

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><p>There weren't many things in his life that Kurt Hummel regretted. He didn't regret coming out as the only openly gay kid at his school, even if constant and incessant bullying was his only reward. He didn't regret telling his dad that he preferred penis to vagina and fashion over football –not even when he saw the temporary gleam of disappointment in his father's eyes and the barely-there, crestfallen demeanor as realization hit Burt Hummel. He would never regret any of his constant battles with Rachel and Mr. Schue for solos in his glee club no matter how many times he was shot down. He didn't even regret hooking his dad and Carole up even though her son, his first and only crush, had resented him for a long time for getting their parents (and as a result, them) closer.<p>

No, Kurt Hummel was a proud figure. He would deny regret until the day his corpse was placed inside his fashionably bedazzled coffin. The only regrets he had were those that affected his pride. Being found unconscious on the floor of his bathroom by his stepbrother while his arms continued to bleed him dry…that would be something Kurt would regret for the rest of his life.

Not the cutting, just the getting caught. As long as the razor blade could erase his memories it was welcomed. Even now as he gazed out of the barred window to the outside world, a world he was now locked away from, watching his parents drive away, he itched for the soothing release cutting would offer him.…

The window he was looking out of was on the second floor. The building he was in was the smallest, with only two stories, whereas the other buildings had more floors. Each building was immaculately white, and the black roofing only enhanced the bleakness. There were a total of four buildings, Kurt had noticed: the "main" building at the very front (the one he was currently in) two "dorm" buildings that looked identical and were horizontal to each other (separated by a garden of sorts), and a tall looming building behind all the others. Kurt figured it was some kind of factory, though what it was for was beyond him; _maybe it was the kitchen?_

Behind the factory building was a large expanse of grass broken only by a pool and a few sport courts and fields. The buildings stood out against the lush green they were surrounded by. Kurt could almost imagine he were in some kind of sick, twisted resort if it weren't for the eight foot, electric fence that ran wide around the perimeter.

The lady who escorted him up here, Mrs. Doherty if he recalled correctly, through smiles and sideways glances told him that the room he would be staying in was only temporary. He was to be given a permanent one in the dorms with the rest of the boys within the week. She had explained that there were two dorms, as if Kurt couldn't see that for himself; the one to the left (when you faced the buildings) was Dalton's Academy for Boys and the one to the right was Crawford Day's Academy for Girls. He would be boarding in the Visitor's Center until the issue of his dorm room was cleared up. Kurt had resisted the urge to roll his eyes while she explained all this to him. The lady was nice, she even reminded him of his old guidance councilor, Ms. Pillsbury, with her soft voice and impeccably tidy outfit; but the way she described Ohio's Institute for the Mentally Unsound was ridiculous. She acted as if he were here by choice; as though this place were a high-end boarding school, instead of a loony bin for other freak shows like him.

While they had walked she had answered the few questions he bothered to ask; where the bathroom was, what time meals were, how and when things were scheduled, those kinds of things. There were two bathrooms on this floor, one on each end of the long hallway that divided the second floor into several rooms. It had a hotel feel to it; if one could ignore the steel bars on the windows, the tiny lights at the corner of each door, and the security cameras crammed into every nook and cranny possible. Meals would be delivered to his room where he would stay unless escorted by her or another faculty member. His schedule had yet to be decided and would remain that way until his school faxed over his transcripts and he underwent a full mental evaluation.

When they had finally arrived at his room she smiled kindly to him, if a little sympathetically, and Kurt had heard the distinct click of the door locking behind her.

Kurt sighed and watched as his white Sedan disappeared around the long-winding corner. With nothing left to look at besides the creepy white fence in the front and the hundreds of trees surrounding the institute, he turned around to take in the room he was staying in. It was plain in shape, just a small rectangle, and the walls were a pale peach color that could almost pass as comforting. There was a small, wooden bed tucked into the corner opposite the door with white pillow cases and a pale green blanket. Kurt mentally winced at the horrible clashing of colors that he figured he'd have to get used to. He examined the door, though there really wasn't much to catch his attention. It was white and stood out against the other surfaces. A light switch with a small button underneath it was the only interruption of the smooth walls, save for the fire alarm right next to the window. No paintings hung on the walls, no decorations marked the room as anything special. The only other furniture in the room was a short, square coffee table situated next to the bed. Kurt was trying very hard to ignore the reality of the situation, that he was trapped here until they fixed him, but the bareness of his living space was a steady reminder that had Kurt's breaths coming at a rapid and irregular pace.

He stared at the door, directly across from where he was standing by the window, and let his thoughts drift. _What if I ran? How long would it take them to catch me if I opened the door and just bolted? _Kurt let his thoughts meander down this path. _Surely I could at least make it to the gate? The front gate isn't as security-intense as the rest. If I could leave, if I could escape from here…_

Kurt's mind buzzed with this idea. He let out a shaky breath and glanced back out the window. Nothing had changed. The trees swayed slightly as a rolling breeze Kurt wished he could feel passed through them. He inhaled sharply and strode over to the door, his stride lengthening with each step. He reached for the handle with every intent of yanking the door open and just running, but stopped when the door handle wouldn't budge.

Of course, the door was locked.

At once, all the comfort the peach walls hinted at dripped away as ice cold reality seeped in through his pores. Kurt Hummel was trapped. He was imprisoned in a room with fruit-colored walls and a bed that was too small. His breathing hitched and his hands started shaking. The room started swirling in a dizzying fashion and Kurt could hear his blood pounding past his ears. He tried to make it to the bed, but he wasn't going to reach it in time.

Kurt passed out on the floor.

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The slight brunette didn't know how long he was out for. By the lack of illumination in the room he could guess that it had been for several hours. He dragged his body off of the floor and over to the bed, wincing at a twinge in his shoulder. He rubbed his neck softly, reaching into his pants to pull out his cell and check the time before he remembered that he no longer owned a cell phone. He let out an aggravated sigh and brought both hands up to cup his face, resting his elbows on his knees and gazing at the floor. The only items he now owned were a suitcase full of clothes, a few photos (frameless), and a bag of his toiletries, all examined thoroughly for any harmful substances. This included the can of sixty-five dollar hairspray he had packed. He was allowed to use hair gel, they explained, just no aerosols. And he would only be permitted to wear the clothes he packed on the weekends. The "academy" had a required uniform that would be issued to Kurt when he received his room assignment. Unfortunately, Kurt wasn't able to remise his lost wardrobe as another problem made itself known.

Kurt had to pee. He groaned again at the lack of a clock. Surely someone would come to bring him food soon. Was this what it was going to be like? Locked in a room twenty-four, seven?

Kurt got off the bed and started pacing, attempting to relieve the strain on his bladder. He walked over to the door and tried the handle again, but to no avail. The door was still locked. A pained whine slipped from his lips before he clenched his teeth and resumed his pacing. He was just starting to debate the pros and cons of pulling the fire alarm when he heard the door knob jiggle. Kurt whipped around to face the door just as it was pushed open.

The person on the other side of the door frame wasn't the same lady who escorted him here originally. This woman was much taller. She was wearing a red and blue track suit that matched the school uniform Kurt would be receiving. She was maybe in her fifties, and had short blonde hair that barely reached her shoulder.

"Hey Lady Face. I hope you're not some psycho with a food eating problem. If you are, well, the next twenty minutes are about to become extremely uncomfortable for you." It took Kurt a moment to realize that this lady was talking to him and was holding a tray full of food. He could smell garlic and tomato sauce with some seasoning. He assumed it was some kind of pasta, but couldn't really care much for it. He still had to pee. A lot.

"Well, this is starting to bore me." The blonde lady started to turn, but only got half way before Kurt was leaping forwards.

"Wait! Can you take me to the bathroom…please?" He tried to be polite. He didn't want this woman walking away if she could take him to where he desperately needed to be. She looked at him for a moment as if she were trying to decipher some kind of code hidden on his forehead before nodding once. She set the tray down on the table inside before turning around.

"Sure thing, Tickle Me Dough Face. Right this way," and she walked out of the door and down the hall. Kurt scrambled after her, not wanting to lose his hope at bladder redemption. He caught up to the woman quickly enough and huffed his annoyance.

"Don't call me that. My name is Kurt. Not Lady, or Lady Face, or…whatever else you just called me." Kurt held his head high. He was constantly ridiculed at his school for his fair complexion and higher voice. All the jocks, even his step-brother at one time, had tormented and ridiculed him. He lost track of how many dumpsters he was tossed into or lockers he was shoved against, the worst perpetrator being Karofsky of course.

He stopped that line of thought right there. He refused to think of anything even remotely resembling the reason why he was here. It was over and done with. Still, Kurt's hand subconsciously lifted to grip his opposite arm fiercely.

While he was mentally rebuking himself, he failed to hear what the woman walking next to him was saying to him. Apparently it was a question of sorts because she looked like she was waiting for an answer.

"Pardon?" He asked softly.

The blonde woman just sneered. "Nope. Not worth repeating. Hurry up and pee."

Kurt didn't need to be told twice. He walked the remaining couple of steps to the bathroom. He could feel this lady's gaze like a laser on the back of his head. The brunet noticed briefly that for all her taunts of his femininity, she had brought him to the men's bathroom. He hurried inside and was pleased to find that the bathroom looked just like any other public bathroom.

After Kurt was finished, he quickly washed his hands and walked back out. He kept his eyes on the ground in order to refrain from conversation, and started walking back towards his room, weird lady and all.

They returned to his room in relatively the same amount of time it took them to reach the bathroom.

The strange lady looked like she was debating whether or not to tell Kurt something. "What?" Kurt asked, his previously dapper manner entirely forgotten now. He didn't know whether this woman was joking or if she was always rudely blunt.

"As much as I'd enjoy the thought of you suffering through a full bladder every single time the need to pee falls upon your urinary tract, I'd most likely be the one having to tell someone to clean it up." Kurt didn't really get where she was going with this, so he just nodded and tried not to look too confused. "The next time you have to pee," the lady continued, "just press this button." She pointed to the button underneath the light switch. _So that's what it was for_. Kurt mentally face-palmed; all he had to do was press the button earlier.

"Umm, thanks. I think," Kurt replied, irritated with the lack of knowledge beforehand. The lady didn't acknowledge him.

"I'm Sue, Sue Sylvester. I'd have told you earlier, but everyone should already know who I am." And with that, Sue walked out, locking Kurt in his purgatory once again.

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><p><strong>AN: So…totally awful? I shouldn't continue? I have the next couple of chapters already written out and I'm working on the others probably at this exact moment. Updates will hopefully be frequent, but life sometimes happen ::shrugs::<strong>

**This idea was inspired by several fantastic sources. One being a book called Cut by Patricia McCormick, the other two are both fics on this site: Made of Scars by the fantastic IceQueenRia and Just Listen by foreternityblue. Both are phenomenal and I encourage everyone to read them!**

**Speaking of encouraging, reviews are just that! Encouraging ^_^ **

**Stay awesome!**

**~Shannah~**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'll add them after we start posting. That way they'll seem more related.**

The next several days passed by in the same general manner. Kurt was still confined to his room for most of the day, and had taken to organizing and reorganizing all of his belongings to pass the time. He was so depraved of company that even the daily visits from that Sylvester lady made him more excited than he cared to admit. He really should have known who she was seeing as she was the "principal" of the "school" he would be attending. That was, if he ever left this room to attend it. If the pale brunet wasn't crazy when he first arrived, the maddeningly slow days were sure to push him off the edge of that mental precipice. He was starting to believe that the world was just going to forget about him, locked inside his too-small room; which was why he was pleasantly surprised when, on his third day there, the first lady to escort him around came to the door in the morning and invited him to eat breakfast with the rest of the staff in the dining hall.

The sun had barely begun to illuminate Kurt's room when he heard the telltale signs of someone about to open the door. He stopped combing his hair for the fourth time that morning and angled himself so he stood facing the door. It had opened slowly, cautiously, and Kurt knew instantly that it wasn't Ms. Sylvester at the door. She'd always slam the door open, nearly giving Kurt a heart-attack each time.

He waited patiently for the door to open all the way so he could see who his savior for this morning was. He was a bit startled when he recognized Mrs. Doherty at the door. She was wearing a bright yellow shirt and a pleated black skirt with a black headband resting on her soft auburn curls.

"Good morning, Kurt" she said softly, "Your transcripts arrived this morning. You've been scheduled for a mental evaluation today at two. As regulation demands, you're to be allowed some fresh air until then to clear your mind and prepare you."

Kurt shuddered at the nonchalance Mrs. Doherty expressed. He didn't really know what he had to prepare for, but it didn't sound pleasant. Suddenly, his room didn't seem like such a horrible option anymore. He nodded to her, not entirely sure he could speak without giving away how truly frightened he was, and moved to follow her as she stepped out of his doorway.

"After you're properly evaluated," she stated, walking down the hallway with Kurt following directly behind her, "the staff will provide you with a schedule and a dorm assignment. You are to follow both accordingly and without fail every day until you leave or are reassigned, understood?"

Kurt nodded again, but realized that it was a useless form of communicating since his escort was currently ahead of him and facing forward. He cleared his throat before giving a noncommittal "mmhmm," figuring it was safer than to actually voice his uncertainty.

Ms. Doherty stopped when she heard his response and turned around to face him. She gave him a scrutinizing look before softening her expression. She reached a hand out to pat his shoulder and Kurt barely stopped himself from flinching away from the kind gesture. Still, she seemed to notice his discomfort and lowered her hand before turning around and heading back down the hall towards the elevator.

Kurt found it strange that the building would have an elevator for only two floors. He figured that it was all part of the "equal rights for disabled" act that passed several years ago. Well, either that or catering to crazies all day just made the staff here that exhausted.

Kurt tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator doors to open, but stopped when he noticed Mrs. Doherty doing the same thing. He opted for folding his arms across his chest and drumming his fingers against them. He never really enjoyed conforming to others or finding out that others have copied him. It felt like losing his individuality, and it was that individuality that made him special. He let a long gust of air out, which earned him a curious look from his escort, as he realized that giving up his individuality for a while.

Thankfully his train of thought was interrupted as the elevator doors 'dinged' open. The two stepped inside and Kurt leaned against the back while Mrs. Doherty reached forward to press the "down" button.

The slow ride down was silent. Silence seemed to have a way of making Kurt's skin itch. He always heard about people "lapsing into comfortable silence," but that never seemed to happen to Kurt outside of his family. Everyone would constantly try to fill the emptiness silence brings with inane gossip and idle chatter at his school. Even in class the students were talking. Not here. Here people seemed to revel in the uneasiness silence brought. It was a rather unpleasant thought.

Finally the elevator ride that seemed much too long for just one floor was over and the doors were opening to let him and Mrs. Doherty out. The first floor wasn't carpeted like the second one had been. This floor was shiny linoleum, the kind you would find in a hospital or a nursing home. Kurt recognized the front desk where his parents had checked him in and the waiting room he had waited in while his parents signed document after document restricting liability and promising monthly payments. He returned his gaze to the floor and wondered why his parents institutionalized him here. It was much farther away from his hometown in Lima –actually, it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere- and the fee was really steep, especially for their pay grade. Kurt didn't know for sure, but he suspected it had something to do with the "resort" quality the mental hospital held. At least this way his dad and Carole wouldn't feel as guilty about abandoning him here as they would if the buildings were made of steel and everything looked like a prison. What they didn't know, and what Kurt was slowly beginning to figure out, was no matter how soft this place looked and no matter how many smiling faces they threw at him, Kurt was as trapped here as he would be in the county jail.

A soft throat-clearing behind him startled Kurt out of his thoughts. He looked up from the floor. Mrs. Doherty was standing right in front of two large doors with her hand resting on one of the door handles. She was looking at Kurt with a mix of concern and irritation, the combination a ghastly sight, and gestured towards the door. Kurt mumbled a brief apology before walking ahead. His escort pushed the door open for him and he couldn't help but imagine himself a prince being allowed a royal entrance. He smirked at the absurd thought

The flimsy illusion was soon shattered when Mrs. Doherty grabbed his elbow and steered him over to the line for food. The room was inoffensive enough; it was an off-white with brown booths along the walls and wooden tables in the middle. The room looked a little shabby, but maybe that was just Kurt's imagination. Anything painted off-white looked shabby to him without the proper accents and accessories. Directly across from where they had entered was a salad bar followed by a buffet that looked incredible and much out of place in the dingy room.

Kurt was quick to grab a small tray of fruit and a cup of coffee, assuming this would probably be the last time he was allowed such delicacies before the processed and prepackaged meals were introduced. He perked up as soon as the delicious scent of coffee wafted over his senses; well, he was as perky as he could be with the looming evaluation in his future, proceeded by months (if not, years) of imprisonment he had to look forward to. His momentary happiness was soon crushed when he and Mrs. Doherty neared the end of the line.

There was a cashier, and Kurt didn't have any money. He was anxiously debating whether or not to just return his food when they approached to cashier. He nervously opened his mouth to ask if Mrs. Doherty would let him borrow some money when she shook her head at him and simply punched in a five-digit code on the keypad.

Kurt looked at her in confusion. "It's your meal number," she explained. "Every time you want to get food in the cafeteria, you put in your code. It will be at the top of your schedule when you receive it tomorrow. The food here is paid off by your parents' monthly payments."

Kurt was a little ashamed again by how much his dad and Carole were paying to send him here, but he nodded anyway. "Why is it done like that?" he asked. "I mean if everything's free, for us at least, why do we have to have a specific code we need to give every time we eat?"

"It helps keep track of who's eating, or not eating, what. It's partially for people with eating disorders or food diseases. But it also lets the staff know how much food to get and if anyone is smuggling extras." She gave him a pointed look that Kurt mostly ignored. Please, like he'd do anything to harm his figure. Instead he simply nodded. _I wonder how many people are here because of eating disorders. Why would someone want to stop eating anyway? _He shuddered at the thought of damaging his metabolism. _Well I guess I have no right to talk. I didn't eat much when I was on the Cheerios. And I'm pretty screwed in the head too..._ He sighed, earning yet another strange look from Mrs. Doherty. _At least we're _all_ freak shows here. I won't get judged too much…hopefully._

Kurt continued down this train of thought for a while. He ate his food slowly, not really paying attention to it. He looked around at the staff. _Why do they work here, of all places?_ He thought. _Do they _like_ having to spend time with head cases? Or maybe they just like working here. I wonder what they think of some of the crazies who come through here. Do they have favorites? _Kurt took a bite of his fruit and took in the few people around him. There weren't many people sitting down and enjoying a late breakfast. Quickly scanning the room, Kurt noted that there was only one other person in the far corner booth eating. The other five people were merely sitting down inside the cafeteria. A young girl who kept biting her nails sat a couple tables away from Kurt and Mrs. Doherty with what appeared to be a chaperon of her own. She had shoulder-length brown hair with several hot pink streaks running through it. Her earlobes were stretched as if she had worn gages, but was recently forced to remove them. Kurt figured that she must have been a fellow newcomer like himself. The lady sitting with her seemed to be trying to get her attention, but she was avidly ignoring the attempts; opting to rather stare past the lady's head. She turned her head slightly and caught Kurt staring at her. Kurt quickly averted his gaze, flushing with embarrassment. Could he be any more obvious?

Kurt flicked his eyes up, but the girl was still watching him. He shifted slightly so his back was to her and continued his people-watching. There were hardly more interesting people. The man in the corner seemed to have finished his food as was walking his tray to the trash. A pair of employees were chatting amicably amongst themselves at a table near the middle of the room. The closest person to Kurt was another young man. He was dressed plainly in a blue T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He had a small smile on his face and his arms were folded over each other, resting on the table. What was weird to Kurt, besides him smiling of course, was his lack of "adult supervision." Kurt looked around the cafeteria to see if he may have just missed an additional employee somewhere, but there was no one new in the room.

He sighed again, thinking of what would happen to him while he was there. He grew apprehensive, worrying about his psych eval. Kurt felt like crying._ I really don't want to do this. Why me? Why do I have to do this?_ _Why?_ Kurt just kept asking himself 'why' over and over again, until the word lost its meaning and was simply a mantra to keep from breaking down; even then he kept repeating it in his head.

"If it isn't the Cowardly Lion and my dear Porcelain." That snapped Kurt from his mental mantra. He looked up to see Sue Sylvester standing over their table. Over the past few days, Sue had given Kurt the option of choosing his own nickname of Gelfling, Porcelain, and Tickle-Me-Doughface. He had obviously chosen 'Porcelain.' "I'll take it from here, Cowardly Lion," she said, referring to Mrs. Doherty. "Porcelain." She pointed to Kurt and then turned around abruptly, walking away. Kurt could only assume that this meant 'follow me' in Sue terms.

She led Kurt out of the cafeteria area and down a few halls until they reached a door that said 'EXIT' in bright, green letters. She pushed the door open, leaving it to slam in front of Kurt. He barely caught it in enough time to save his precious face and stomped out with a furious scowl. Sue gave him a condescending glance before continuing on. Kurt meandered behind her. She was walking towards the dormitories, but he still wasn't entirely sure where they were heading.

"Keep up Porcelain. Your legs are long enough that you'll actually have to try to fall behind." Sue Sylvester shouted.

Kurt groaned in frustration. "Where are we even going?" He called back. He wasn't in the mood to play follow the leader around the property.

She pointed out to the garden in between the dorms."Oh…" Kurt said, quietly. He quickened his pace so that he was walking to her right, but a step or two behind her. He huffed at her impatience and looked at his surroundings. Everything looked so much bigger than when he was looking at driving up. The factory (or whatever it was) still loomed, tall and menacing, behind the two dorms. It looked a little more than creepy, especially when compared to the decent esque buildings right in front of it. The two dormitories were practically mirror images. They were both angled into a slight 'V' with the factory building at the tip and the garden in the middle. The roofs were shingled with black tiles and slanted. The windows were still barred, but Kurt didn't expect anything different. There were a few people puttering around outside. Mostly staff, but Kurt caught the occasional blue and red uniform here and there; some teenagers were even wearing the "physical attire" that Kurt himself would be given.

The garden that Kurt and Sue were walking through was actually quite pretty; but so were most of the things there. There was a fountain in the middle and small statues spaced out between bushes of roses. He noticed a replica of the armless statue, Venus de Milo as Kurt recalled, and multiple baby Cupids with their heart-shaped bow and arrows. There were a plethora of trees with small white flowers budding on them. Benches littered the courtyard; all surrounded by statues of people- a lot of whom were naked- and drinking fountains. Bushes intermingled with the trees on the perimeter of the garden. It actually reminded Kurt a lot of the garden in Hercules. Kurt grimaced at relating Disney to this place.

Kurt wanted to ask Sue if she knew what would happen to him, but he didn't particularly feel comfortable with opening himself up that much to someone he just met. He almost laughed at the irony that he was going to do just that to someone he knew even less. The situation did not seem predominantly appropriate for laughing, though.

As if Sue sensed his unease, she slowed her walk and looked at Kurt. "Loosen up, Porcelain," she said. As if that were possible with her looking at him. "You're starting to resemble the Cowardly Lion that escorted you here." She said as she tilter her head back towards the building they came from.

Kurt was slightly offended, but he figured that was the closest thing to comforting he would get from this lady. "Thanks," he mumbled. Sue ignored him.

They walked around the grounds—or "campus," as most of the staff referred to it as—for another few hours, Kurt observing what his new…home would be like. It was silent for the most part, other than their shoes against the concrete. Though the silence made him a bit uneasy, Kurt knew Sue wasn't one for small talk; and he didn't feel too inclined to start a deep conversation with the lady. She still intimidated him a bit.

It was about half-passed one when Sue started walking Kurt to the boy's dorm. Kurt's pulse sped as he, once again, thought of what he was about to do. Oh how he wanted a razor, or a knife, or _something_ to make it all go away. His palms started sweating slightly and he rubbed them on his pant legs. He took a deep breath as Sue walked in before him, not bothering to hold the door open for him as Mrs. Doherty had done.

The inside of the dorm reminded him of a hospital (like everything else in that place) with its impeccably white walls, linoleum floors, and sterile scent. He shivered at the almost ominous feel it had.

"Come on Porcelain," Sue called. Kurt didn't realize that his feet had been dragging in his reluctance.

"Sorry," he called and hurried to catch up to her.

They walked down a few halls in more silence, the clicking of their shoes even more prominent in there than it was in the courtyard. The halls looked similar to those in the Visitor's Center. The only difference was in the amount of people. The Visitor's Center was decidedly lacking in the amount of uniformed boys walking around, and there were many more staff members here. Kurt kept his eyes glued to the floor as he walked past all the people.

They finally stopped at a door with a little gold plaque reading 'Dr. S. Taylor.' Kurt swallowed and looked at Sue. She seemed to hesitate before reaching into a pocket of her jumpsuit and pulling out a small pack of tissues. Sue handed them to him wordlessly and Kurt reached for the small package of Kleenex tentatively, afraid that they may be poisoned or something equally as cynical. He quickly shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans, where he planned to leave them.

"Well, Porcelain, this is where I leave you." She gestured to the door he was to enter, "I'd say good luck, but I have less boring things to occupy myself with." She walked away. Kurt had gotten used to that, so he just shook his head, turned back to the door, and knocked.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews. They really help me figure out whether I'm doing an okay job with writing this. I wound up splitting this chapter up. Originally it was going to be one long chapter, but I wanted to get this out today. Besides, I just came back from a funeral and my best friend's fiancé deployed for a 7 month long tour this morning and the whole college thing is kicking my ass and, well, it's just been a long day. So bear with me, I know the pace might be a little slow for you guys, but I'm giving it my best effort.**

**This chapter is dedicated to _hayleighreid_. Thank you for the encouraging and incredibly sweet review. She's the main reason that you all are getting an update today.**

**Disclaimer (since I still don't know if this is necessary for every chapter or not): I don't own Glee or any of its characters, though what I would give to own Darren Criss for just a little bit… xD**

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><p>Kurt scratched his arm subtly, but even that small movement was loud in the silence currently filling the air-conditioned room. The boy was waiting for the lady sitting across from him to say something, but she just looked at him through her horn-rimmed glasses. She was very stereotypical for a psychiatrist. Her grey-tinged auburn hair was held up in a tight bun, and her handsome face was rather devoid of make-up. In fact, the only thing remotely remarkable about her, Kurt would say, was her glasses. Unfortunately Kurt didn't have much attention to spare for her horrible fashion crimes; all his attention was focused on the plastic clipboard she held in her lap. This was where she has scribbled the one-word answers Kurt had given to a barrage of questions that didn't seem very pertinent. They mostly had to do with his dad and Carole, his family history, his childhood, etc. However, it seemed that the easy, yes-or-no questions were over with.<p>

They were both seated in a spacious room, with only a desk, a couple of cushioned chairs, and a large filing cabinet as furniture. Kurt had chosen the chair farthest away from his interrogator, in hopes that he could distance himself from whatever he was about to be put through. But even though he had said nothing but a greeting and yes or no to Dr. Taylor, he still felt as if he were revealing important and critical pieces of himself to the hawk-like woman sitting at her desk. He tried to keep as still as possible, refraining from any movement that might give away what he was thinking.

He was afraid. He was afraid that this woman, a woman he knew nothing about, would use whatever he gave her to trap him even further. He needed cutting, and he knew that everyone here wanted to take that away from him. He wouldn't let that happen; not while all his menacing ghosts still loomed in his past.

Slowly, as if purposely drawing this out, Dr. Taylor drew her hands from her clipboard and brought them together in front of her. She looked down at the paperwork stacked neatly on her desk. After examining the content, she lifted her head to once more attempt eye contact with the anxious teenager. Kurt studiously kept his gaze on the clipboard. When the handsome woman realized that Kurt was not going to look up, she decided to start again, hoping that he would look at her as their conversation continued.

"Kurt."

He started, even though the single word was spoken softly, barely above a whisper.

"Kurt," the psychiatrist tried again, "I understand that you've been enrolled here for a very serious reason, is this correct?" She waited for some kind of response from her patient. After a moment, Kurt nodded his head minutely. "You self harm." She paused again, but Kurt merely stared at her clipboard. His hands moved from across his chest to grip the sides of his chair, an action that did not go unnoticed. He winced as he watched Dr. Taylor scribble something down on the clipboard that avidly held his attention. He wanted to fold his arms again, to erase his previous action, but knew it was pointless. Moving again would just draw more attention to his discomfort. He stubbornly kept his arms put.

"When did you first begin to self-harm?"

The question puzzled Kurt. He wasn't sure what the head doctor meant. Did she mean the first time he personally cut himself or the first time he realized that there was another way to deal with the bullies and the abuse rather than curling up and crying about it? Kurt however, kept silent about his confusion –something that bothered the psychiatrist in front of him. She let out a soft sigh of frustration before trying something else.

"Kurt. Kurt, look at me."

The boy lowered his gaze to the floor for a second before inhaling deeply. He raised his head slowly, but paused before making eye contact. He settled for staring at the grey-blue wall directly behind Dr. Taylor's head instead. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as the lady shook her head. Realizing that this was the best she could hope for at the moment, she continued.

"I know this is hard for you. I really do understand that. If there were a different, less uncomfortable way of doing this, than I would be all for it; but there isn't. I'm asking you –one mature individual to another- to please talk to me. Everything I do here is to help you, whether you believe that or not. Besides, the more you cooperate, the faster this will be over." Dr. Taylor sounded earnest, but that was all part of her job. But still, she had a point. _The more you cooperate…._

Kurt moved his gaze towards the psychiatrist. He took a calming breath before answering. "_I_ started to harm myself in June; on the eighth to be more specific."

"Kurt, what do you mean _you _started harming yourself? Were there others harming you before?" Dr. Taylor leaned forward in her chair but Kurt snorted and leaned back, once again folding his arms across his chest -a movement that was as much his signature as his infamous eye-roll.

"Of course there were people 'harming' me," Kurt rolled his eyes, "I am -was-...I was the only openly gay kid in my school. But that's not how I meant it." _Not anymore though _He thought, cynically. _McKinley High has finally achieved their goal. I shall 'glitter the halls with my gay fair dust' no more..._

Dr. Taylor nodded thoughtfully and leaned back a bit, more pensive than intent at the moment. "I don't think I understand what you mean…." She admitted. Kurt laughed inwardly at the irony. Wasn't this supposed to be how he felt?

"I mean, the first time I physically held a blade to my wrist was June eighth of this year. But that's not when I feel that I started 'spiraling into the deep abyss' that is cutting." Kurt tried to keep any inflection out of his voice, but his natural haughty disposition seeped in, no matter how much effort he put forth to contain it. He noticed that the psychiatrist was poised on the brink of a question, so he decided to save them both some time. "The end of May, the thirtieth I believe, I was working in my dad's garage. We had a project to restore a 1967 Arcadian Blue Mustang, and whenever we had some free time or we felt particularly stressed we'd work on–"

"Which was it?" Dr. Taylor inserted. Kurt glared at her, bemused by the question and irritated by the interruption. But the interruption was useful. Kurt recognized that a bit of excitement had leaked into his movements and in voice. "You said you worked on it when you were free or when you were stressed. Which was it?" A scowl crept over his features and Kurt shifted his gaze towards the corner of the room. The lady had undoubtedly caught the hidden meaning to his explanation; before he even noticed it. He looked at her again, eyes guarded and expression once again indifferent, but it was already too late. He needed to be more careful with what he let slip, but the damage was already done for now.

"It's life. Everyone is stressed about something or another. And I also had some free time I guess." Before she could inquire further, he jumped back into his answering story. "Usually we worked on it together, my dad even discouraged me from working on it by myself, but I needed something to clear my head and to occupy my hands. Since my dad was at home resting after his hosp…resting, I figured that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, so to speak. I fiddled with the engine for a bit, trying to reconnect the ignition coil to the distributor, but that wasn't energy consuming. I elected for some body work instead. The fender and bumper still needed replacement, but I didn't have all the parts I needed and I wasn't sure if I could do that on my own. I came to the same conclusion for the tires, but removing the windows I thought I could handle, broken as they were. The rear windows were small and easy to manage. I was able to do the driver's side window with little hassle, but I was unaware of a problematic dent to the door frame on the passenger's side. After detaching the window I went to lift it out of its frame, but I miscalculated the effort needed. The window slipped and as well as shattering everywhere, it sliced open my arm diagonally from the base of my palm to half way up my forearm. I should have been freaking out, I've never done too well with blood; but it was _my _blood, _my _accident. It was easy to concentrate on cleaning up. In fact, I was able to calm down and focus a lot more than I had earlier while working on the car. That's where it started, to answer your question." He concluded rather abruptly, but there really wasn't much more to say. He was annoyed to realize that Dr. Taylor was smiling faintly, as if there was a bigger picture that he was missing.

"I appreciate the explanation, but I'm sorry to admit that it in fact, did not answer my question. I was going to ask what usually stressed you out. What makes you anxious or worries? You mentioned being harassed and something about your father…." She trailed off, hoping that Kurt would understand what she was really asking.

"You mean, what makes me cut? Or are you asking why I started to begin with?" The brunet gave her a sideways glance, but knew that this question was undeniably inevitable.

"Yes, to both." was her simple response. Kurt nodded, but the action was mostly for him. He could handle this, he just needed to remain apathetic. _Look at it as someone else's story: a particularly gruesome narrative that you've been called on to read aloud. Nothing but a sob story told in the most boring of tones with as little intonation as possible. _He was able to keep this mental pep talk away from his expression, or at least he hoped he had. It would be a lot easier to retell if this lady was unaware how truly difficult and unpleasant this explanation was going to be.

The pale teenager couldn't help but take a deep breath. He settled his eyes back to the spot on the wall he had earlier chose, and began. If his voice was a little shaky, it was at least devoid of emotion.

"I used to be a football player. I don't know if that's in your files or not, but it's relevant here. I originally joined the team to impress my dad, but not long after I joined I came out to him. Surprisingly, especially if you've ever met my dad, he accepted me. I was still his son, if not entirely masculine, still a man to him. I attempted to remain on the football team. It was…not fun exactly, but a good resource. I now had an emotional outlet, glee, and a physical one, football. There were rumors going around that I was gay –rumors I had yet to confirm to any but glee-clubbers- but they were ignored for the most part. Well, they were until the Finn incident."

"Finn being your step-brother?" Dr. Taylor asked, ruffling through the folder on her desk.

"He is now, but he wasn't back then. Our parents were merely dating at the time. Actually, our parents' getting together was the main instigator of everything." Kurt reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes, but stopped when he noticed what he was doing. That had always been a nervous habit of his. He must remain neutral. He brought his hand back down after scratching his shoulder, needing some excuse for his hand to suddenly float towards his face. "It was mostly my fault, to be honest. Finn was amazing; he was strong and handsome, and a genuinely nice guy. I just didn't know when to call it quits. I knew I was making him uncomfortable with forward behavior, but I didn't know what he kept bottled inside. I found out soon enough though. He went all psycho, homophobe in the locker room." Kurt barely managed to keep from wincing. His apathetic demeanor was all he had to hold onto at this point. He watched as the psychiatrist nodded in sympathy –sympathy, because there was no way that this heterosexual, wealthy woman in front of him could every demonstrate empathy to someone like Kurt. He felt a bubbly layer of anger boil over in his mind, which helped the brunet distance himself even further from his anecdote. "I'll spare you the details, mostly because I can't remember everything he said. But from his outburst, most of the boys, if not all, that were currently occupying the locker room knew that not only was I entirely gay, but that I had the hots big time for Finn. The bullying only got worse from there.

"One Neanderthal in particular made it his mission to make my life a living hell. I quit the team and avoided the locker rooms entirely. I tried to keep away from all the jocks, and they seemed to ignore me as long as I kept my distance. Out of sight, out of mind I suppose. But not him…." Kurt stopped there, resisting the urge to shiver. _Apathy, apathy, apathy, apathy. _He told himself; a mantra of sorts. "Karofsky. His name was David Karofsky. It started as the usual slushy facials and unoriginal insults; nothing that a high-held head and some baby-wipes couldn't handle. But he started getting more and more belligerent. I didn't understand why harassing me was so important to him. Even Azimio wasn't as aggressive with his attacks; but for some reason, Karofsky wouldn't just let me be." Kurt remembered how angry and confused he had felt. What had he done to Karofsky? What was his problem? Kurt balled his hand into a fist, reliving the anger and frustration anew.

Dr. Taylor glanced towards Kurt's hand, but quickly returned her gaze to the upset boy in front of her. She wanted to take some notes, but she had set her pen down earlier and she worried that picking it up now would derail Kurt in his train of thought. She just settled for remembering what she could and taking notes after he finished talking.

"About a week later, everything fell apart. School had just gotten out for the day and the halls were pretty packed. I was preoccupied with texting a friend –Mercedes- when out of nowhere this hand came flying towards my face and knocked my phone into the air. As usual, it was Karofsky. I snapped. I was fed up with all the hate and the aggression. I ran after him and followed him into the locker rooms. If I was a little less upset, I would have recognized how terrible of an idea that had been; but I was too pissed off and before I knew it I was in his face, venting all my frustration into one long, insult-filled speech.

"I had felt so proud of myself for all of three seconds before all that pride iced over to cold, dreadful regret. His lips were on mine. I hadn't even registered that fact before he was shoving me against the lockers." Kurt was starting to lose it. His voice wavered and as the memory washed over him, so too did the feeling of complete panic and fear. He was no longer able to make eye-contact; his eyes trapped re-watching the horrific scenes etched in his mind. He kept speaking, as if finishing the story would allow him to escape the nightmare. "I had been shoved into lockers many times before, but this was different. This was meant to be different. I was trapped there; his hands on my shoulders, pinning me to the cold metal and his tongue trapped inside my mouth. When his hands moved from my shoulders I had felt so relieved, but that was before I realized that they were traveling towards a new goal."

The psychiatrist sat in her chair, afraid to even breathe too deeply. She knew Kurt had been bullied, but she had no idea that it had escalated to this point. She kept her eyes on the boy, not letting them stray to even check the time. He was looking at her, but his eyes were far away. He had stopped talking, unable to continue. Kurt could feel his hands start to shake with the memory of another set of hands. Kurt wished that the only thing he was able to remember was pain. That would have been easier to handle, to deal with; something much simpler for him to compartmentalize and repeat. But along with pain, he could also remember shame, and anger, and helplessness, and fear, fear, fear, fear….

Kurt shot out of his seat and ran for the door. He couldn't stay here anymore. He had to get away. Everything was so raw and so overwhelming; he felt as if he had been skinned with nothing to keep his infected, festering insides from oozing all over the place. He knew the one thing that could put him back together. It was a paradox of the most desperate kind: in order to keep everything inside, he needed to cut himself open and let everything out.

He didn't remember opening the door, but he was running down the halls of Dalton Academy, racing towards an escape he hoped he could find. His feet pounded against the linoleum in time with the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He breathing was sharp and ragged. He kept his eyes on the floor, following the movement of his feet, as if watching them race forward would help him get out of there faster.

He didn't see the other boy until they had already collided. Their collision was loud and painful, a knocking of skulls against each other and an end result of tangled legs and ringing ears. Kurt was the first to recover. He clambered up rather ungracefully, body poised and ready to flee once more; until a flash of golden hazel had him stopping with a heavy lurch.

The other boy was shorter than Kurt, with jet black hair gelled back more suited for a charming business man than a head case trapped in a mental facility. He had a strong jaw that was covered in a fine layer of stubble and thick, triangular eyebrows. These details trickled in slowly, Kurt only becoming aware of them through his peripherals. His sole focus was on this boy's eyes.

Kurt couldn't figure out if they were golden brown, flecked with emeralds, or a green drizzled lightly with caramel. But the color wasn't the only thing enrapturing Kurt. There seemed to be a conversation spoken with these eyes. Emotions too intense to be said out loud, reserved only for the more insightful observer. Any previous anxiety Kurt had had was quickly erased and replaced with a new kind of apprehension. These eyes held an anguish that seemed to stretch on forever; a sadness that was only slightly marred by a brief moment of surprise. But before Kurt could fully understand what this mystifying boy was trying to convey, and mask of coldness had replaced all emotion on his face.

Kurt became aware of another person next to this boy at the same instant he heard Dr. Taylor calling out for him down the hall. Kurt was frozen with indecision. He needed to leave before Dr. Taylor reached him, but the boy in front of him had become an unsolved puzzle; it would feel like an unscratched itch until he knew who this boy was with the intense, multi-hued eyes.

The pale teenager turned to leave, but stopped, still unsure of what to do. The psychiatrist's voice ringing through the silent halls, steadily growing closer, decided him.

With one final glance over his shoulder at the pair, Kurt raced away once again.

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><p><strong>The next chapter should be out sometime next week, depending on when I have free time. Unless I get enough reviews making me feel horrible for delaying. X)<strong>

**Reviews are always welcomed. And don't worry, I don't discriminate. Big reviews, small reviews, nice reviews, mean reviews, tall, short, epic, flowing, poetic, concise, all are welcomed!**

**Stay safe, my lovely readers!**

**~Shannah**

**P.S. I'm thinking about getting a Beta. I'm not sure if I need it though, and a Beta would probably slow updates. So it's up to you guys, basically. Are the errors I have too distracting to ignore and would acquiring a Beta be worth it? Sorry for the long-as-freaking-cheezus ANs, btw.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Dearest and most patientest readers! Sorry. This took forever. And it's short. But I figured that I would make myself sit down and type out _something _for you guys. I started college about three weeks ago, and five weeks ago my friend got kicked out of her house cuz her parents found out she was pregnant and has been living with me since. Story short: I've been hella hella HELLA busy what with homework, driving around, school, more driving around, 'friend sitting,' even more driving around, and then still some more driving around. **

**Sorry for any errors, and for the lack of review response. There's only so many times you can read your own writing.**

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><p>Kurt didn't know how he had managed it, but he had wound up running all the way to the gardens he and Sue Sylvester had occupied not too long ago. He stopped abruptly, gasping in lungfuls of air. He could not notice the beauty of it now—the need to cut driving all other thoughts from his mind. He looked around, desperate to find something to cut with. When he found nothing in his immediate search, he forced himself to calm down. Kurt managed to stagger over to a bench he had spotted and he collapsed on it. He could still remember his psychiatrist's patronizing glances; the horror-filled gapes from his family when they realized what Kurt was; the sneers and "accidental" shoves from his classmates for being who he was; his friends' inability to fully understand what was going on with him, even before he had started to cut; and more recently, those indescribable, unreadable eyes that he just couldn't get out of his head.<p>

Kurt knew he needed to cut. His body was screaming for the sensation. The raw emotions were still washing over him from reliving Karofsky…from reliving his own nightmare. He needed this.

Before he could fully register what was happening, Kurt could feel that release; it felt as if someone were pouring a cool water bottle over his heads on a hot day. The relief was trickling down from his scalp to wash over the rest of his body. He breathed in deeply, determined to inhale as much oxygen during the ordeal as possible. For some reason, Kurt always found that breathing through the semi-high he experienced seemed easier, sweeter, better, than in real life. It was then that he realized that he was dragging his arm across the edge of the concrete bench, causing it to bleed.

He sighed in relief. This was what he had been craving for the past three days. He had needed this, and now he finally had it.

The relief soon wore off, though, as panic took its place. Did he really just cut himself in the middle of a loony bin, where anyone could see him? He was certain that he would be caught. Dr. Taylor would find him and he'd be locked up in a straightjacket, left alone in a white, padded cell. He would have pre-pulverized food brought to him that he'd have to drink out of a straw.

He hated this feeling; that of terror, or panic. It was so uncontrollable. No matter how many times Kurt practiced the exercises that each child is taught –to breathe deeply, count to ten, relax all muscles- he couldn't calm himself. If Kurt was honest with himself, he knew that was the core of his problem. He cut to forget.

He stopped freaking out a little when he remembered the tissues he had. He felt a twinge of guilt that Ms. Sylvester had given them to him to wipe his eyes, not blood from self-inflicted cuts, but he wouldn't let himself focus on that right now. He pulled the small pack from his pocket and opened it. He almost felt a sense of loss as he pressed a tissue to his bleeding arm; it felt almost as though he was saying goodbye to a friend.

He looked up when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. He froze, his earlier panic creeping up on him again as new thoughts of being locked up for good snuck into his unwilling mind.

But his fear was in vain as he soon realized it was just another student walking through the gardens. It was a girl. Her skirt swished as she walked towards the bench Kurt was sitting on.

She was wearing the same color scheme that he was wearing, with clothes that looked almost as formal as what he had on. He assumed it was the same uniform; only this one was for the female variety. What was different though about her uniform was how incredibly form fitting and just shy of ratty her clothes looked. Kurt figured that if he had been attracted to vagina and breasts in any way, then the short skirt and tight blazer would have had him drooling in a heartbeat.

Kurt felt kind of awkward just sitting there with her. There was nothing comfortable about this kind of silence. In fact, Kurt had never really sat in "comfortable silence" before. Unless it was mandatory by classrooms or libraries, silence had never failed to make his skin crawl with the need to fill it. However, while he was there, Kurt was out of his safe zone. He didn't know the rules to any of the games and until he learned, he decided to just observe; which was why he felt awkward in the first place. The girl sitting next to him seemed to be completely oblivious to his blatant staring. Kurt guessed that with an outfit like that, she must be used to guys ogling her. But there was a strong difference between ogling and what Kurt was doing. Considering the girl had yet to even acknowledge his existence though, Kurt figured that there wasn't much of a way she could know that.

Kurt could appreciate how pretty she was, if only in a causal manner. She had short, dark hair that looked black, but turned brown when she leaned into the sunlight. Her hair was just shy of shoulder length and framed her face in layer that gave almost a halo effect. Kurt laughed to himself because this girl looked anything but angelic. She had a strong jaw and high cheekbones –a combination that should look rather ghastly, but only made her look fierce. Strangely she wore little make-up. Besides her eye-shadow, Kurt couldn't pick out anything unnatural that didn't blend with her face. She wore a deep purple color on her eyelids that made her dark green eyes stand out. This strange, beautiful girl reached into a pocket and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. It was then that Kurt realized she wasn't being chauffeured like everyone else had to be.

The pale girl inhaled heavily on her cigarette before putting her lighter away. This girl completely boggled Kurt. She was out here without an escort, she had an addicting substance on her, she carried a lighter with her, and she had yet to say a word to him, not even to ask if her smoking bothered the boy. He decided to ignore her and subtly pressed the soaking tissues closer to his arm. He wanted to exchange them for dry ones, but he was still terrified to draw attention to his arm in case this person was a snitch. He tried to lean away to better hide his weeping arm, but his body movement caught her eye. Her eyes scanned him quickly as if she had done it too many times to care, but she paused momentarily on his arm. It kind of stood out since his sleeve was up and his other hand was clasping it tightly. Her lips quirked up at the ends, but other than that, she showed no outward indication of noticing. Her eyes continued to rake over him, until landing on his face. The eye contact was a little too intense before words had even been spoken, so Kurt settled again for looking at the space just to the right of her head.

Either way, this movement was unnecessary. At the same time Kurt redirected his gaze, the girl sitting next to him turned away to flick her cigarette and took another long drag from it. She kept her head turned and exhaled slowly before turning back to resume her staring.

When she looked like she was about to say something Kurt cut her off, previous rule forgotten.

"Should you really be doing that here? Isn't the whole point supposed to be getting better?"

The girl, whose name Kurt still didn't know, simply glared at him. She took another drag as if to emphasize how little Kurt's words meant.

"I could ask you the same thing," she retorted, gesturing to his bleeding arm. Kurt followed her gaze and noticed that the tissues he had placed over the ragged cuts and scrapes were leaking red lines that dripped steadily down his arm. A few drops had made neat splatters on the concrete. Kurt watched the journey of blood for an instant before returning his attention to the now smirking girl. Kurt took this time to set the wet tissues aside and grab some more efficient ones from his pocket. He wiped up the four or so trails of blood down his arm, frowning slightly when their outlines were left behind, then pressed the slightly stained tissues against his arm. The bleeding had slowed, but Kurt kept pressure anyway.

"Mm, touché. But if you're here, then you can expect everyone to be fucked, huh? I mean, even the staff has to be crazy_. _Who would_ voluntarily _come here every day?" This remark got a tiny chuckle from his bench companion. She flicked her cigarette before switching it to her left hand. With her right she reached out and held her hand in front of Kurt.

"Name's Crocifissa. But if you ever call me that I'll cut you." She grinned a little lopsidedly at the reference, to which Kurt merely rolled his eyes. "Call me Cee. Shorter, simpler, easier to pronounce, and doesn't mean crucifix." She made a face that obviously displayed contempt for the word. Kurt couldn't help but smile. Cee didn't stare at his arm or ask any personal questions. And she seemed to have a sense of humor.

"Kurt. But you can call me Kurt if you want. I only let my really close friends call me that." He stage whispered the last part. She laughed slightly, and then started laughing even harder. Kurt stared at her, entirely bemused by her sudden outburst of random laughter.

She quieted her giggles quickly, her face dropping every sign of humor almost in an instant. Her eyes still sparkled a little, but otherwise she schooled her expression into a practiced indifference. "You realize that our names together spell curtsy, right? Kurt-Cee, curtsy!"

Kurt stared at her for a moment, before realizing that she was seriously making a joke. He laughed, mostly at how ridiculous the whole situation was. He was sitting there, bleeding from his arm, sitting with a girl he hardly knew after running away from his mental evaluation, which he still needed to complete. Cee dragged her cigarette against the bench a couple times before mashing it down. She pocketed the stub and her lighter before standing up. Kurt tilted his head in confusion to the abrupt ending of a rather amusing conversation. She simply nods towards a tall, lanky, blonde lady marching in their direction.

"I assume that's for you, since I have complete permission to be out here." Cee winks at the end, so Kurt knows she's not being mean. He pulls the sleeve of his blazer down, keeping pressure subtly through his jacket. He didn't have enough time to pull his shirt sleeve down, so it made a small bulge on his left arm.

"Before I'm forcefully ripped away from our wonderful exchange, I have a question. How were you able to smuggle a lighter in here when I couldn't even keep my hairspray?" Kurt looked somewhat irritated, but mostly impressed. Cee just laughed.

"Not smuggled, borrowed." She pointed towards a sliding glass door on the female dorm room building. "My group therapist is inside those doors, and I'm pretty certain she's watching me right now. I borrowed it from her for a smoke, but I have a short time limit. As do you." As if on cue, Sue came over and grabbed Kurt's arm –the right one, thankfully. Cee winked again before walking away.

"Later Kurtsie. Goodbye Principal Sylvester." She threw over her shoulder. Kurt almost gaped, and would have, too if it wasn't for the fact that this lady was in the process of dragging him out of the gardens. He had no idea that Sue Sylvester was the principal. He didn't even know this place _had _a principal. His bewilderment was interrupted as the woman in question started talking.

"Of all the irresponsible…do you know how much trouble you caused by pulling that little stunt? If it wasn't for Jesse and his little hobbit of an underling….I should have you placed in a loony jacket! The nerve!" She continued on this diatribe for the entire walk back. Well, Sue was walking; Kurt was being dragged. Kurt felt remarkable less guilty for using the tissues by the time they arrived at a disturbingly familiar door.

"Just get this over with. I don't want to drop more important problems to come looking for you. Again. Understood?" Kurt nodded after wiping some spittle off of his check. Sue walked away, leaving Kurt to enter the room on his own.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

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><p><strong>I can't make any promises on when the next chapter will be up, but if enough people harass me and make me feel incredibly guilty, I'm sure I'll find time to sit my booty down and write =) No, I'm not blackmailing you guys. Just speaking the truth!<strong>


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